


Things We Don't Talk About

by romaenia



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13905465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romaenia/pseuds/romaenia
Summary: Some years in the future, Jackson Avery is given a Harper Avery Award, and April Kepner is in the audience...A story of reminiscence, friendship, co-parents.





	Things We Don't Talk About

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the Jackson/ Maggie relationship, since I know someone will care: in this story, they are in a long-term relationship - not because that's what I want (at all!) or think will happen, but I wrote this in the early stages of Season 14, and the way the characters are behaving right now, say if they didn't develop further at all, this would be an ending that would make sense. I'm just saying I could see the Jackson Avery of the present settling into a dull and supportive relationship with someone. Anyhow. Enjoy!

Things we don’t talk about

Both hands on the mic, then just one as he fishes a paper out of his suit pocket and leans forward. The staccato of applause is overwhelming – sharp, long, definite. Unanimous. There’s no one angry in the crowd, not even the losers. They all agree, he was the right choice.  
There’s a squeal as his lips touch the microphone, and he backs up a few inches. “This is – “he begins, and then has to wait for the noise to settle. I glance around our table, and we are all silent. The other doctors in the room do not know him, and they forget that he is a real human, experiencing, feeling. To them, he is a figurehead onstage, the handsome representation of his project. They forget he is not a computer, but we – we have seen the sweat and the blood of the project, every stage from conception to breakthrough to success. Our table is silent because we want to hear him in this moment.  
I still haven’t uttered a sound since they announced his name. I don’t think I’ve moved, either.  
He starts over. “This is insane. That is insane, that I am here, on this stage and accepting this award.” His hands are steady, but the paper his speech is written on is crumpled and thin from him twisting it in his fingers all through the ceremony. “I actually have been here before, once, on behalf of my good friend Meredith Grey, when she won her first Harper Avery. That award did not belong to me, but since I knew that I would never receive this award myself, because I was a family member of Harper Avery, I felt that I should relish the experience. Maybe pretend, since I had known Dr. Grey for several years and had worked with her and sparred professionally with her – maybe in some small way, maybe I could share in some tiny percentage of that award. And standing up here today, even though this board of directors has seen fit to make it possible to award my own work with a Harper Avery, it still seems like it’s only a fraction mine.”  
He bit down on his lip, hard, and I was reminded how rare it was to see him nervous these days. He stopped looking at his speech and instead turned his eyes to our table. “This award belongs to my mother, Dr. Catherine Avery, who since my childhood has never stopped pushing me to be better, work harder, innovate more, and save more lives that I thought I could. And it belongs her husband, Dr. Richard Webber, who kept me on staff at his hospital when it was Seattle Grace Mercy West, when I was an arrogant resident who couldn’t choose a specialty.”  
We all smiled, and Webber and Catherine exchanged loving glances. Next to me, Harriett absent-mindedly kicked a table leg, as Jackson went on. “This award belongs to each of the brilliant surgeons I have had the privilege of working with – Miranda Bailey, Alex Karev, Arizona Robbins, Amelia Shephard, Cristina Yang, Callie Torres. Being their colleague and friend has sharpened me into a quicker thinker, a more practiced surgeon, and a better person.”  
“This award belongs to my girlfriend, Maggie Pierce, who has stuck with me for seven long years, who endured every night I spent muttering to myself about test subjects, every time I wanted to punch the wall out of frustration – who is smarter than I ever will be,” across from me, Maggie grinned and we each laughed under our breaths, “and who’s input and assistance moved this project forward each of the countless times when it stalled. I love you, Mags.”  
Silently, she mouthed, “I love you too,” and Amelia leaned a sisterly head on her shoulder.  
Jackson’s hands shook slightly as he continued. “This award belongs to the dead. To my friend Charles Percy, who’s murder…opened my eyes to the ephemerality of our lives, and pushed me to fight injustices as much as I could, as often as I could. It belongs to Derek Shephard, who never allowed me to coast. To Mark Sloan, who’s voice guides me every day, and who’s friendship I will miss for the rest of my life – Mark is the one supplying the standard I hold myself to as a plastic surgeon, as a member of the Plastics Posse.” He smiles, maybe a little too wide, but so does Arizona. So, does Meredith.  
“And this award belongs to my family. My son Samuel, the inspiration for this entire project. He was only with us, physically, for a few hours, but I truly believe that in spirit he is here, accepting this award with me, as the only reason I ever said one day, ‘We have to cure OI’.”  
I think I may be crying, I’m not sure. I think maybe other people at the table are too, but more of them are looking at me. I’ve forgotten where I’m looking – I think my eyes are on the stage, but not on Jackson. Maybe I’m looking for Samuel, up there in spirit, just like he said.  
He speaks again, saying, “And it belongs to my daughter Harriett,” and I slip my arm around her tiny shoulders. But she doesn’t want to nuzzle against me at the moment – she wants to catch all the looks thrown her way, accepting the recognition with pride. Alex reaches over and messes up the hair I spent three hours curling for her. “Harriett, who already knows more about kindness and empathy and peace from her 8 years on earth than I have learned in my whole life. She teaches me every day, and she taught me what I needed to know in order to get on this stage.”  
I see him glance at the timer, which is ticking away fast. It’s a good speech, and I know it objectively, not just because he’s made me cry three times. The room thinks so too – it’s emotional and admiring.  
He’s been quiet for maybe a moment too long, and we think it’s over. A handful of people start clapping as he glances down at his slip of paper one more time. They stop when he opens his mouth and once again, leans too close to the mic. “And this award belongs to Dr. April Kepner. My best friend, my favorite person, who has stuck by my side for the better part of seventeen years. Without her, my life would look nothing like it does now. April, it may look like it’s just me up here, but trust me, it’s me and you. Still standing.”  
He’s right, you know. Some piece of me is transported years back in time, goes to see our younger selves – our doughy, unbroken, guilt-free younger selves. Out of body, I put a hand on her shoulders and whisper, he’s right.  
I’m here, of course, of course, I’m here, and I feel someone’s hand take mine but I’m too busy watching him. My eyes are clear now – I stopped tearing up about a minute ago, and now my shoulders are relaxed, and I’m not blinking.  
I think I might have mouthed something, just like Maggie did. I can’t remember. This is what surreal means, this feeling that each memory is no longer yours, seconds after you have it. I look down at my lap – I can remember this, I can remember buying a dress for the occasion. Green, dark, strapless. Mama Avery called it ‘enticing’ which is her word for dresses that are boob-y. I remember picking out the dress only after Jackson insisted that I should come to the ceremony, that he was inviting as many people as he could, and he wanted me there. I picked the dress and debated leaving the tags on, just in case he changed his mind. Of course, he could afford to invite everyone, since he was a shoe-in to win, and there was no risk of embarrassment. I cut the tags in the hotel room.  
“Thank you for the honor and the recognition, and here’s to an upcoming year of even more medical innovation, and even more lives saved. Thank you.” He descends the stairs in a two-at-a-time pattern, and the applause returns.  
He goes back to where he was sitting with the other nominees, and we all settle into a happy, glazed over mood – tired from the plane and the excitement, we sit through the formalities as the ceremony closes down. Harriett falls asleep in my lap. Once the auditorium lights up and we are free to move around, a zoo of photographers closes in around Jackson, people wanting to shake his hand. Catherine fights through the crowd to give him a sharp look right between the eyes and then an enormous hug. Maggie is the second to reach him, and I can hear the blunt timbre of her squealing voice through the entire crowd. The rest of us hang back at the table, waiting until he’s cleared the masses.  
I softly shake Harriett’s shoulder until she wakes up. “Hey, nugget. You want to go back to the hotel and sleep, or do you want to wait and say congratulations to Daddy?”  
Her voice is muffled through the folds of my dress as she insists, “Sleep.”  
I tug at a small slice of her black hair. “Okay, sweetheart. We can go.” By now most of our table has drifted up, either finally getting a chance to go congratulate Jackson, or else off to the open bar. With Harriet’s hand in mine, I find Arizona closest to me and I say, “We’re gonna head back so this one can get some sleep. If you talk to Jackson, tell him congratulations for me, okay?”  
“Really? You don’t want to stick around and tell him yourself?”  
I pause for a moment. “Should I? Do you think I should?”  
“I don’t- I don’t know, I mean, he did mention you in his speech. It was nice,” she shrugs lightly.  
“It was,” I admit.  
“Mooom.” Harriet tugs on my hand, and I find my resolve. “You know, there’s just so many people here who want to talk to him, I’m gonna get going. But tell him we’ll see him at the hotel, okay?”  
“Yeah, okay.”  
My daughter in tow, I walk out of the auditorium, slowly so as to enjoy the moment; it’s unlikely I’ll be invited to attend this ceremony again. In the cab, I lean my head against the cold glass and use the minutes to remember, to glance back. I’m in something like a contented daze as we make our way inside the hotel, down the hall, and into the room. We’re splitting the room with someone, Meredith I think, I so settle Harriet on the pull out and make a bed for myself on the floor. She’s passed out minutes after she’s changed out of her dress, but I can’t seem to wind down. I spend an eternity brushing my hair in the bathroom mirror, and when there’s a knock at the door, I check the time – it’s almost midnight.  
I unhook the chain and twist the knob, and there’s Jackson. My mouth opens wordlessly, and he just smiles like he let out a secret.  
I shake my head at him. “Harper freakin’ Avery.”  
“I know,” he laughs, glancing down at the trophy. “It’s dumb. It feels dumb in my hand.”  
“It’s not dumb, you deserve it. Really.” I glance back inside our room. “I wanted to say congratulations, but she was too tired, I think.”  
“Yeah, she did not look very impressed.”  
“She’s really not,” I deadpan. “She was the only person in that room who knows how lame you really are. Plus, she thinks surgery is gross.”  
“I know, where did our genes go wrong?”  
“It’s probably from my side,” I say apologetically. “I’m the anomaly there, everyone else in my family is very calm and doesn’t get an adrenaline rush from the sight of blood.”  
“Weirdos.”  
“I know.”  
He adjusts his frame in the doorway; he’s loosened his bowtie, and he’s clutching a napkin from the hotel in his left hand.  
“So…do you feel different?”  
“I don’t know. A little bit? Maybe? Honestly, I think I blacked out when they called my name, I don’t really remember it that well. I have no idea how my speech went, I think I only woke up when my mother told me that my tie was crooked the whole time.”  
“Well it was a good speech. Even if you don’t remember it, it was good. People cried.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Oh yeah. I mean, not Catherine, obviously. And not Alex or Wilson, or Meredith…Actually I think it was mainly just Arizona, she’s a big crier. Arizona and Maggie….and me, too.”  
“You? You cried?”  
“Yes,” I sigh. “I am not made of stone.”  
“It’s just weird,” he grins, “I never see you cry anymore.”  
I roll my eyes. “It was a good speech, okay? Whatever. Actually, I wanted to say thank you. For mentioning me, it was nice. It meant a lot.”  
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course…I mean, it was earned, you know, you’ve earned the recognition.”  
We stand silent, and awkward. I try to remember the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t about Harriet, or a case. It takes me a minute to recall – it was this past August, and while we were pulling a 15-hour shift at Grey Sloan, a thundershower appeared out of nowhere. We walked outside with no umbrella, and when the sleet of rain hit me, Jackson made some comment about how when my hair was wet, it looked the way my hair had, in it’s natural color when we first met.  
“I don’t know…” he starts and stops. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” He looks back at the trophy.  
“Like…tonight now? Or in your life now?”  
“Both, I guess. I mean, it feels stupid to just go to sleep. Maggie wanted to organize a party and I wouldn’t let her, but it does feel wrong to treat it like it’s any other night.”  
“That party is still going to happen, you know.”  
“Yeah, I know. They’re unstoppable. I definitely vetoed the confetti canons, though.”  
“Oh, Jackson,” I tease. “You love celebrating everyone except yourself. Let yourself be showered in praise for this.”  
“I- I just did! I spent the past two hours shaking hands and being told what I’ve done is incredible, and all these people who are just – infinitely more accomplished than me, handing me their business cards, and it’s weird.”  
“You grew up with that.”  
“It’s just different now.”  
I fiddle with the door handle. “I get what you mean, though. What are you supposed to do after you’ve won the most prestigious award in your field?”  
“I’ll probably just order some waffles to the room.”  
“Good plan,” I commend. “Whipped cream.”  
“And strawberries – I mean, this occasion isn’t coming around twice.”  
“It might. It has before.”  
“Nah. Not for me; I think this is it. I don’t really want another one.” He tilts his chin. “Instead, I’m gonna focus on helping my friends get their Harper Avery’s.”  
I laugh at the thought. “Try that with someone else, why don’t you. Trauma doesn’t win awards.”  
“I guess you’re right.”  
We fall into silence again, and I look at the gray that’s starting to surface at his temples. I noticed it sometime last year, and if I didn’t routinely keep up my shade of red, I’m sure there would be some on my head too.  
“I never thought it would happen, you know.”  
“What?”  
And now I’m crying, which was what I wanted least to do. “I never thought it would be cured in my lifetime. It’s amazing, it’s good, but-“  
“I know.”  
I power through what I was going to say. “I think there’s still a small part of me that just – didn’t want to see it happen. It’s too close, you know? It’s like – I’d rather die of TB a century before it was cured than a year before it was cured, it’s just too close.” I frown furiously at the ground like I’m throwing a tantrum; I simply can’t look at him. “It’s too much. I hate it – so much, I hate it that he died and we cured OI, all within my lifetime. Some part of me can’t stand seeing it.”  
“I know.”  
“You know?” I sniffle. “And you’re okay with that? This is…It’s your discovery, it’s the best thing you’ve ever done –“  
“But I felt that way too,” he admits, and his voice steadies me. I stop shaking. “Believe me – just, the second - “ He speaks in a tense, clipped way. “The second I knew it worked, and I was right, I wanted to die, right then. But…I don’t know. It’s done, I did it, and at least it’s out there now.”  
I look right at him, and say, “Thank you.”  
He smiles half-heartedly and scratches his forehead. “Do you – do you ever talk to anybody, about it? About him? Sometimes I catch myself just – bringing him into conversations. Not with anyone I know, but just…at the store. On a plane.”  
“Not really,” I tell him. “If I bring him into my day-to-day, it’s hard to move forward.”  
“That’s true.”  
“I don’t know, honestly. It’s still surreal to me, sometimes. Like, I have all these versions inside myself. I’m a mom, and I’m an ex-wife, and I have a son who died, and I’m a trauma surgeon, but I’m also this nerd who lives on the farm, and I’m a virgin in her 20s, but then I’m also sleeping with my best friend...They all exist, all at once. Sometimes I forget which one is the present.”  
He’s quiet for a while. “I’ve never said it aloud like that, before.”  
I shrug, leaning against the hinge in the door. “We all have things we don’t talk about.”


End file.
